Tangela's Tears: Harry Field
by DarkV
Summary: Pretentious misery.


**Tangela's Tears: Harry Field**

"Youth Snaps in Cerulean City," the headlines proclaimed. The morning newspaper was set down on the counter. Everyone in the bar was turned toward the television set mounted under the cabinet. The screen filled with images of the incident: bloody spots on a floor, several holes in a concrete wall, bodies being covered up and carried away in black bags, and a small, round, blue figure being restrained and escorted away.   
  
The reporter began, "This was the scene yesterday at the Cerulean City gym; a tragedy that leaves this community asking, 'Why?'"   
  
The scene switched to another building with a large, red and white circular sign over the entrance. A crowd had gathered in front of it, and various people were standing on wooden crates at the doors, shouting through microphones. The news camera zoomed in on a woman who was currently shouting. "What I would like to know," she shouted, "is where were the parents in all of this?" The crowd roared in agreement.   
  
"Seven dead, four injured, and a lot of unanswered questions," the reporter continued. "Among the dead is the one responsible, one Jerry Ashton, a thirteen year old resident of Cerulean City who police say ordered his pokemon to attack innocent bystanders before turning the attacks on himself. His pokemon have since been taken into custody, to be turned over to Pokemon League officials." The scene switched between images of people crying, hugging, and burying their faces in their hands; apparently the friends and family of the victims. "Still, the survivors are left to pick up the pieces of shattered lives. A friend of Ashton said that he had grown detached and depressed recently."   
  
The scene switched to an interview with this friend, another teenaged boy whose red face indicated that he had recently been crying. "Well, he had this big dream of being a Pokemon Master and stuff, but he wasn't doing very good with his training. He only had like six pokemon, and they weren't very strong. He'd get beat really bad in all his matches, and all the other trainers would make fun of him for it. It really got to him, too. He had a hard enough time getting his Boulder Badge, and I guess the pressure was too much when he went for the Cascade Badge."   
  
The reporter continued, "Other peers of Ashton said that he was a loner who spent most of his time reading magazine articles about pokemon, particularly of the 'dark' type. As this is the fifth such incident in the past month alone, authorities are attempting to gather as much information as possible to find a common factor and develop a profile to prevent further outbreaks of violence. In most of these cases the perpetrator used a Squirtle's water gun attack. As of now the water-type and its evolutions have been banned from League competitions, and League officials are attempting to recall as many of the creatures as possible. Back to you, Jane."   
  
"Thanks Hank," the anchorwoman answered from the desk in the studio. "We'll be right back."   
  
The program gave way to a series of commercials, and the bar patrons focused their attention back on their drinks. The muted sound of simultaneous conversations again filled the bar. It was soon broken when a figure sitting at the end of the bar slammed his fist down on the counter.   
  
"Bah!" he spat. "Those damn things cause more trouble..." He trailed off, and several people turned to look at him. They didn't speak up. They recognized him as Harry Field, the drunk who spent more time at the bar than at home. Nobody blamed him for it, though; his finances were ruined and his household was a wreck. Everyone knew it, and everyone knew why. He had owned a pokemon daycare center with his wife Mary. The stimulation often increased levels, he had boasted, and it was true. For this his business had some success. Many people in Cerulean City knew about the center, and its owner, "Sharp Harry." He was a fast talker, a shrewd dealer, a slick businessman, but in all just a lover of pokemon making a living. He had features to match: long, black, shiny hair, piercing eyes, and a constant, warm smile. Pokemon was his business and his family's business; their lives.   
  
His son Jerry had dreams of being a Pokemon Master; seeing the news broadcast had brought it all back. Jerry's skills had been polished enough that he had a reasonable chance at reaching his goal. With the right pokemon team he would certainly have been able to defeat the Elite Four, and so when the chance came to get a rare pokemon, a Dratini, he took the opportunity. It was being sold by a former trainer who wanted to settle down but needed some money. There was no trade, just a simple, expensive, purchase. Still, the position of Pokemon Master was a lucrative one, and the family was willing to make the investment.   
  
That Dratini was Jerry's favorite pokemon. When it was stolen by Team Rocket one day something broke in him. From then on he felt he had failed as a trainer, failed to protect his pokemon. Pokemon was his life. Maybe that's why when he lost his pokemon he felt it only fitting that his life go too. He had ordered his Squirtle to use a water gun attack on him. Squirtle had been raised well; the force of the attack against Jerry's face had instantly snapped his neck.   
  
Harry was never quite the same after that. His business started to decline afterwards. Fewer and fewer pokemon were gaining levels. When a Team Rocket plot involving such a daycare center was uncovered, public opinion turned against Harry's center, and the lower quality service was used as justification. He was called a Team Rocket operative. He made several court appearances when he was accused of pokemon abuse by former customers. His center was frequently vandalized, and after a while he stopped trying to replace broken windows.   
  
When the hysteria died down he took to drinking. People recognized his name but not his face, and the patrons of the Tangela's Tears Bar didn't care who he was anyway; they had problems of their own. He had been there ever since, drinking himself numb. His hair was a dull gray, and his eyes stared off into space. The few drinks he had that morning began to loosen his tongue, until he was ready to speak his peace.   
  
"More trouble than they're worth," he repeated. After a silence he snapped, "How did we ever get so dependent on those monsters? What did they expect would come of it? I know what I expected, but I learned my lesson. Children take those beasts and go out into the world all alone. Those monsters add a whole new dimension of evil to our lives: more reasons to be greedy or jealous or angry, new methods of crime. And those kids are off trying to sort it out for themselves, thousands of them chasing after a pie in the sky dream that only has room for one. What the hell!" His voice had been rising steadily, and he paused to compose himself, taking a few sips of his drink.   
  
"Those things are just living tools for people who are getting lazier and lazier, sometimes weapons for people like Team Rocket, usually toys used in glorified cock fights. They're raised to be powerful; the more destructive the better. One of them alone could level a building with a fire spin attack, and that's the best friend of one of those kids, like a family. Friends, family. Hmph. You want a friend, cuddle up to a beer. At least it won't die on ya."   
  
"Can't go a damn place without seeing 'em. Even this place is based on 'em. Are we so sure we're controlling the pokemon?" He paused again. He was slowing down. He sighed before taking another sip of his drink. "Tangela, one of the shyest pokemon. It hides in those vines and looks out at the world. And here we are, in Tangela's bar, watching the world through television. Well damn it, I don't wanna be like a pokemon anymore. I need some air." He slapped some money down on the counter and stalked out the door. Nobody took offense at anything he said. They all knew they would give their speeches someday. A few people briefly considered following him, but decided against it. They had problems of their own, and they weren't ready to leave yet.   
  
Harry stomped home, shoving past the occasional pokemon trainer on the sidewalks of the city. He arrived at his old center, distinguishable from the surrounding buildings by the graffiti on the walls and door. He paused at the door, and glanced at the words and drawings. "Harry Field's Pokemon Daycare" lettered over the door had been changed to read "Harry Fink's Pokemon Dayscare."   
  
He had never washed the words off. He had never had a mind to, and there seemed to be little point to it after his business collapsed. Mary never left the house, so she never had to look at it. Few people came to Harry's section of the city; only he had to look at it when he came home every day. He stood and stared at it for a while. He'd seen it enough times that it didn't bother him anymore, but after leaving the bar he'd seen enough. He reached into his jacket and hesitated for a moment before pulling out a small red and white ball. He pushed a button on it and it grew to fill his hand.   
  
"Squirtle...go," he commanded, holding the ball out in front of him. The ball opened, and a light shot out to the ground to form a small round shape. As the light faded a small blue turtle with large eyes stood on its hind legs in its place. He hadn't let this Squirtle out of its pokeball ever since the incident with Jerry, not out of malice for the creature, but just because he couldn't bear to look at it. They looked at each other, and Harry thought he noticed something. Was that sadness he saw in its eyes? He'd handled a lot of different pokemon, and he knew well enough about their personalities and feelings, but he was never sure about how human they were, if they had memories, if they could feel regret or doubt, or if they were limited to fear and other animal instincts that humans shared.   
  
He pointed at the letters above the door, and the creature turned to look. "Water gun attack," he quietly ordered. It seemed to hesitate. Was it just rusty, or remorseful? With a gurgle, Squirtle spat a short stream of water at the letters, but it fell short. "Try washing off this mess," Harry said pointing to the wall. The creature tried again, with a little more force, and some of the year-old paint began to come off. "Again," Harry commanded, "and start blasting those letters." Squirtle complied, and soon the doorway was littered with oddly colored puddles, bits of cement, pieces of gold-colored metal, and a single letter. It was the "D" from "daycare," and Harry knelt down to pick it up. He glanced up to see a few tenacious letters still on the wall.   
  
"Fink's" and "scare" remained. Fink's scared; the thought drifted through his mind.   
  
"I'm not afraid!" he suddenly shouted at the city. "Not of Team Rocket, not of pokemon, nothing! I'll prove it!" Squirtle turned to look at him. He grabbed the creature and stood up, looking into its eyes. "Squirtle, water gun attack." The turtle blinked its eyes a few times and shook its head; Harry was taken aback. "Do it," he urged, but Squirtle only shook its head harder. "What does this mean?" Harry murmured. He set the Squirtle down and held the pokeball out again. "Return," he said, and a red light shot out of the ball, enveloping the Squirtle before pulling back into the ball. He took a deep, shaky breath. "How did those kids manage to do it, anyway? And how did Jerry..." With a thousand confusing thoughts running through his head, he leaned against a telephone pole, and he wept.   
  
He had worked out the calculations one day. There was more than enough money left over from the family business to allow him and Mary to stay in their home. The extra was enough to fund his stay at the Tangela's Tears Bar for a good long time, what he had hoped was long enough for him to forget. Still, he was only thirty-six years old, was tangled in memories and failure, and was further entwined with his grief-stricken wife. He was really no better off at the Tangela's Tears Bar than at home, but at least Tangela's vines can tickle enough to bring a smile. 


End file.
